Their idleness, aimless and languid airs.

She wanted to lay to rest something that long belonged to repose so he said

'Put it on paper you feckless young creature.'

Writing is the only human endeavor that people take to with the foreknowledge that it is so painfully deliberated but at the same time so pure and compelling.

Can I just clarify that the postmodern condition is a less austere term for artistic bankruptcy.

Because art was made for suffering, art now suffers.